


If It Moves Kiss It

by westcoastcas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, all fluff. harry loves flowers louis loves harry, nothing but bakery painting and flowers !!! and neighbours and cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastcas/pseuds/westcoastcas
Summary: Harry Styles likes sending people flowers- whether it's Mr. Rein who just seems to have a new painting to hang on the wall each day, or the old lady at No. 2 with her Boston Terrier, or the woman who buys banana muffins every morning down from the bakery and makes a stairway to heaven out of the marble stairwell. It's not long till Louis Tomlinson takes a step into where all the good and soft things bloom, as always.Or, Louis moves in Harry’s next door, and it takes them 7 days filled with different kinds of flowers to say hello.





	

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS Kanti for reading this first nd helping me w flowers :'') enjoy !

 

Sun rays shine brighter with the soft humming tying the empty walls together, there's tea boiling on the counter, and Harry makes his decision between _Homegrown_ and _Joyous Occasion._

 

Even though _Joyous Occasion_ ’s white hydrangeas may smell even prettier than they look, lavender roses placed delicately in _Homegrown_ takes it.

 

Harry shuts the thin, colorful catalogue and places it next to his empty mug that reads _‘jolly whale’_ with a tiny blue whale printed under the words.

 

“ _Cuddles,_ give me a moment.” The blue-eyed Birman gives him a purr, Harry shushes her, glancing over his feet.

 

The tea is ready then, Harry makes an enthusiastic sound, pours it into his mug and inhales the soft smell in.

 

“Some lamb?” Harry murmurs as he reaches for a cupboard, taking the tray of wet lamb bits, Cuddles meows loudly and brushes her tail on Harry's leg.

 

Harry opens the tray can easily, walking over to the glossy red bowl resting in front of the big glass window that overlooks the street.

 

There is a knock on the door, Harry looks back and Cuddles runs to her bowl, settling down and waving her tail around.

 

Harry puts the half full tray can down on the table and walks over to the door, wiping his hands on a napkin he picked up on his way.

 

He opens the door- facing the bright smiled girl standing on his doorstep, holding a small box of baked goods up to Harry's face, still warm.

 

“Morning, Harry!” She chirps, Harry returns the smile.

 

“Morning, honey.”

 

“We got- almond and cranberry scones, blueberry crumble muffin, roasted veggie quiche,” She takes a moment to think, “Probably some double fudge brownies in there too.”

 

“A lot this morning, innit?” Harry takes the box from her hands gently, the smell of blueberries filling the air.

 

“ _Yeah!_ Ernis opened up early.” She toys with her ring, then gasps with a gap between her pink lips, “Oh my _god_ , I totally forgot about the snickerdoodles _.”_

 

 _“_ Oh, I think this will be alright for today.” Harry gives her a polite smile, Cuddles meows loudly.

 

“Ugh, next time then-” She taps her pockets to check if she forgot about anything else, like a chocolate chip cookie might be in there, “Gotta run, you know Ernis.”

 

“Yeah, yeah-” Harry looks back at Cuddles jumping on the table, to the open tray of lamb, “ _Cuddles-”_

 

“ _Bye Harry!”_ The girl coos as she waves and steps away from the door, the cinnamon scented air following behind her soft hair.

 

“ _Bye Perrie!”_ Harry shouts as he rushes to the table and puts the bakery box and the napkin down, grabbing Cuddles from her soft tummy and holding her up on his chest.

 

The cat purrs, showing her teeth and pressing a paw on Harry's chest, Harry caresses her fur.

 

He puts Cuddles down after a moment, wraps the tray can with a piece of stretch film in the kitchen and puts it in the cupboard.

 

“Good morning, Harry.” A gentle, raspy voice comes through the open door into Harry's flat, it's the old man up in No. 7, going upstairs with today's paper.

 

“Morning, Mr. Green.” Harry turns back and waves at the man with a dimple popping in his cheek.

 

Mr. Green hums and nods, walking to the next set of stairs his rheumatic legs have to take.

 

Harry walks over to take the box off the table and places it down on the counter, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He dries it with the bright yellow towel resting on the window side, and takes the blueberry crumble muffin, taking a bite.

 

He walks over to the gaping door, and his feet warn him about his next step when he reaches it. He has a hand placed on the oak, and biting around a piece of fresh blueberry in his mouth, watching the view with a frown.

 

It's the flat’s door in front of his, open all the way. Inside, the walls are clean and the floors are shiny, there are what appears to be rugs resting on the wall next to the window. Other than those, the flat is empty. But probably not for long.

 

Harry bites down another piece of his muffin, inspecting the flat from his doorstep. How could he not know someone was moving in _his next door_ when he knows what type of pasta sauce ( _amatriciana_ ), No. 11 likes?

 

 _Odd,_ he thinks, expecting someone to walk up to the empty door, _odd things._

 

He shuts the door to his flat, finishing up his muffin. He makes a mental note of asking Perrie for a second one tomorrow.

 

He walks over to the counter, presses a finger on his mug, checking if it's still hot- good thing he poured his tea in it when it was boiling, _now_ it's just the right temperature he can drink it in.

 

He takes a small sip, he is definitely gonna ask Perrie for a second blueberry muffin. He also has to know who is moving in the flat next door.

 

He puts his mug down and rubs his eyes, fixes his bun. He's got grey sweatpants and a plain t-shirt on, he pulls on it.

 

His phone rings on the counter, reading a name that makes him smile with joy like a little kid, he reaches it and picks it up.

 

“Hey Emma.”

 

“Hey Harry,” The voice on the other line answers with a smile, busy with something. “Let me guess, _Homegrown?”_

 

“ _Yes.”_ Harry breathes out with a content nod, “You got it?”

 

“Of course, I know you can't resist lavender.” Harry smiles, Emma takes a little card and a ballpoint pen from the table. “Who is today's gift for?”

 

“Uh, fifteen.” Harry takes a sip from his tea, “ _Alice Leed_.”

 

“Lovely! The blonde art student, yeah?” Emma writes down on the card with a soft sigh. ( _To Alice Leed_ , from No. 5, Have a nice day. H)

 

“Yes, that's her.” Harry puts his mug down, takes a look at Cuddles. “Have you two spoken before?”

 

“Eh,” Emma places the card between the flowers gently, brushing the leaves and petals. “I'm grabbing coffee with her this Saturday morning.”

 

“Oh, _delightful_.” Harry smiles softly, the sun shining in his eyes, “I can help with anything, you know.”

 

“ _Yes,_ Harold, I know.” Emma inhales deeply, her light brown falling in her eyes and tangling with her eyelashes, she says quietly, “Thank you.”

 

“It's nothing, love.” Harry opens the box and takes a double fudge brownie, “Anytime.”

 

Emma takes a moment to smile and look down in silence, then she licks her lips and pushes her hair from her eyes. “Up in ten minutes.”

 

“You're amazing.” Harry leans back on the counter, “Thanks, Emma.”

 

“Of course, Harold. Talk to you tomorrow.”

 

Emma hangs up with a soft clink, Harry puts his phone down and finishes up his tea quietly.

 

It's only a short moment till he hears a loud thud coming from out his door. _It's probably the new neighbour,_ he thinks. He should definitely check it out.

 

He is distracted by Cuddles jumping on the counter, brushing her fur on Harry's tummy, Harry instinctively places a hand on her head, petting it gently.

 

He is reminded of groceries somewhere between Cuddles’ soft purrs, he pats her on the head and walks to the fridge.

 

He is out the door in ten minutes, with a little paper in his pocket, his wallet and keys. He stops after one step out of his flat.

 

No. 6’s door is closed.

 

Harry gets out the apartment with the soft spring breeze dancing in his hair.

 

****

 

“Who the _fuck_ listens to Shakira at 7pm on a Wednesday?” Louis groans loudly, throwing his head back on the soft pillow.

 

The bedroom is still half decorated- there are piles of many black clothes resting on the chair, one wonders how Louis Tomlinson makes out which one is his shirt and which one is his pants.

 

The dark beige curtains are shut, there are about four things in the room that count as furniture, one bedside table, a chair, a drawer and the actual bed.

 

The walls are light grey, the PS4 is resting in it’s box peacefully on the floor not much to Louis’ liking, waiting to be unwrapped.

 

The ceiling is buzzing with Shakira’s high notes, Louis feels like it's gonna come crashing down on his pretty face. He would like to keep his pretty face intact, even if it's Shakira, thank you very much.

 

He steps off the bed with another groan, tragically abandoning his sweet afternoon nap. He walks through the corridor, rubbing a palm over his eyes and fixing his hair. He takes a look at his dark red couch placed in the middle of the living room. He should’ve told the guys to put it sideways on the wall, maybe, it wouldn't look this sad _._ There's still no TV. There's also no tea, or chocolate. Louis feels like he took a short trip to hell as a preview. (Or something more permanent if he doesn't get cable soon.)

 

He opens the door with a sigh, the music is lower when he's on the doorstep, it only gets louder as he takes the stairs. He follows the beat with little steps, stands still on No. 9’s door.

 

He listens to Shakira coming through the other side, talking himself down, _be nice, you're new, be nice._

 

Louis knocks on the door with a small sigh, there isn't anyone minding it. He knocks on it again more harshly, looking down and realizing he’s in his boxers, the door swings open.

 

Louis looks up at who’s standing on the doorstep, and is taken aback by the brunette with tattoos covering up his arms and a stubble. The music is blasting louder with the door open, the young man has a straight face as Shakira does an impressive falsetto.

 

“Mate, tone down the Shakira?” Louis asks with a small voice, a finger fondling his boxers. This is the worst case scenario of meeting his insanely hot neighbour.

 

“You're new.” The man states with a confident tone, there is a faint haze of smoke inside his flat. “Six?”

 

“Yeah.” Louis says, his eyes locked on the man’s eyelashes. He's wearing a red band shirt and black sweatpants, and has a bracelet on the arm he’s leaning on the door.

 

“Next to Harry, oh my.” The man says rather mockingly, giving Louis a look from head to toe, Louis almost squirms. “What flower did you get?”

 

“Who's _Harry_?” Louis asks with a small frown, clueless.

 

The man looks at him emptily for a moment because well, that wasn't very funny, then he realizes Louis actually has no idea.

 

“Oh, it's Christmas.” He smiles brightly, and Louis can just stare. “Please, do knock on his door on your way back down.”

 

“I don't understand-” Louis tries out of pure frustration, the man chuckles and turns back in an attempt to shut the door, “Wait, who are you again?”

 

“Zayn.” Louis hears his faint voice and the man walks into his living room, the door slamming shut right after him.

 

Louis stands in front of the door trying to take the last 3 minutes in, he scratches his head and walks to the stairs- the music is lower when he reaches the second floor. He is too busy to notice that Zayn put the volume down, his eyes are locked on No. 5’s- “ _Harry”'s_ doormat.

 

It says _home_ with a heart instead of an O.

 

He prays that Harry is not some creepy old man lurking on people and eating raw turkey meat. (It has happened before, and it was not very pleasant, probably half the reason why Louis moved into a new flat.)

 

But it smells like blueberries instead of raw meat, and there's some warm feeling in his gut when he turns back to open the door to his flat- almost like this Harry is watching him on the doorstep.(Almost like he wants him to.)

 

It's been a day since Alice Leed in No. 15 got _Homegrown_ on her doorstep, and Louis slams his door shut.

 

****

 

“ _Good morning, Cuddles_.” Harry breathes out softly, the sunlight filling up his room and shining on his skin.

 

He yawns and stretches his arms, taking his hair tie out and playing with his long curls. He steps off his comfortable bed with Cuddles tangled between his legs, they walk to the bathroom together. Harry’s only got his black boxers on, he brushes his teeth with Cuddles brushing her tail around his chest, holding on to his chest with her paws, Harry strokes her back.

 

In ten minutes, he's lying down on the couch in his living room, a quiet relaxing song filling between the walls. Cuddles is curled up next to Harry, licking her paw calmly. Harry shuts his eyes.

 

“ _Open the door, kid!”_ A loud voice growls from out Harry's door and Harry opens his eyes wide, Cuddles flinches with him rushing to the door.

 

“I swear to god-” The man knocks on Harry’s door, Harry opens it wide open with a rush of air blowing his curls.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to send me those _fucking_ flowers?” Harry stands on the doorstep with eyes big as the moon, Cuddles brushing her fur between his legs. “Are you trying to _kill me_?”

 

“ _Of course not-_ ”

 

“I don't think so. I'm allergic to almost everything in this bouquet, you are gonna succeed.” The man holds the flower bouquet in his hands, taking a deep breath, his face swollen red. “Don't _ever_ send me flowers again.”

 

The man slams the bouquet on Harry's chest harshly, Harry lets out a soft _ow_ as No. 16 goes upstairs with fists curled on his sides, in a sneezing fit.

 

And that's when it happens.

 

No. 5’s door swings open.

 

Harry is standing on the doorstep with his curls over his face and red cheeks, lavenders and lilac lizanthus dropping through his fingers, dark purple hydrangeas spread over his hands- Cuddles purrs loudly and tangles her tail around Harry's ankle, a Picasso calla lily resting calmly on her fur. There are blue veronicas falling down on Harry's toes, and he feels dangerously close to the sun.

 

Louis’ feet must be nailed to the ground by now, he looks at the young man in front of him standing like an expression of Romanticism through the nineteenth century. Like an embodiment of Vivaldi’s _Summer_ , delicacy and elegance made into flesh before his eyes.

 

The late renaissance painting looks at him with blown pupils.

 

It's No. 6, alright. With all his instinctive charm, eyes shining bright like he's toying with the sun. His delicate wrist is curved on the door, his fingertips barely brushing the oak, he looks like a marble statue. Maybe it's because he barely took a breath since he twisted the doorknob.

 

He’s got a _I wanna look tough but I inevitably fail_ edge at the end of his soft, messy fringe resting on his forehead, a white tank top that brings out his eyes, and an unspoken daintiness buzzing off of his defined collarbones. Harry looks at his eyelashes, and they shadow his bright blue eyes like petals. Grace, ease, poetry in motion.

 

“ _Cuddles, shh,”_ Harry mutters quietly when Cuddles threws her paw over a dropping lilac rose, hitting Harry's leg.

 

Louis feels like he hit jackpot on a one night trip to Vegas.

 

“Are you alright?” He tries softly, watching the roses keep falling down between Harry's fingers, and into Cuddles’ sharp nails, he takes a small step towards the two.

 

Harry sighs softly, the boy’s voice is like silk on milky skin. “Yeah, thank you.”

 

“I'll just-” Louis mutters as he closes the distance between No. 5 and No. 6, crouching down to pick the hydrangeas off the ground, Harry kneels down with him.

 

“That was quite rude.” Louis breathes out, Cuddles sniffing his wrist, taking a liking to this stranger.

 

“He is.” Harry mumbles as their fingers brush on a lavender, he pulls back, Louis looks up at him.

 

“Do you have a vase?” The boy looks even more beautiful up close, his curls resting neatly on his bare shoulders, he looks like those baby angel statues placed on marble fountains.

 

“Not an empty one, currently,” Harry says slowly, Cuddles meows, Louis looks down at her. “Would you like to have those?”

 

Louis looks up, then down at the pretty flowers in his arms, lips parted.

 

“Consider it as an apology.” Harry looks down at his own bundle, eyes glancing through swiftly.

 

“An apology for what?”

 

“No house warming gifts on your first day.” Harry mutters as he grabs a lavender wax flower, and holds it up to Louis’ face. “This is the prettiest.”

 

“You don't have to,” Louis murmus as Cuddles meows loudly, rubbing her head on Louis’ knee, then biting down on a flower petal, Louis takes the flower off Harry's fingers gently.

 

“This barely covers it.”

 

“Oh, I'll- it's quite alright.” Louis says softly, his grip tight on the flowers.

 

“Would you like some snickerdoodles?” Harry Styles, 22, in his black boxers, holding a messed up flower bouquet in his hands as his Birman cat Cuddles chews on them says.

 

Louis can't help the smile spreading over his lips with a small frown.

 

“I... guess so? My mum always said _not_ to accept snickerdoodles from strangers, but I'll make an exception for you.” Louis gets up on his feet with Harry, Harry smiles brightly, all-teeth, and rushes to the kitchen counter. Louis’ eyes are locked down, at the couple of lilac roses on the ground next to a very serious Cuddles looking up at him.

 

They stare at each other in silence, then Harry appears back at the doorstep, holding two pastries that smell richly of cinnamon in a napkin, Louis can't help but inhale softly.

 

“That smells really good.” He breathes out, Cuddles jumping and chewing the flowers on the ground.

 

“I know.” Harry smiles warmly, “ _Cuddles, what did I tell you-_ ”

 

He picks up the half eaten flowers from the cat’s grip, holding them tight. He looks back up at Louis, who's watching him with a small curve of his lips.

 

“Sorry, I'll give you these.” Harry mutters and places the napkin on top of the flowers Louis’ got both his hands on against his chest.

 

“It's alright.” Louis smiles warmly, Harry returns it, always does, “Thank you so much for these.”

 

“Oh, you're welcome,” Harry waves a hand in the air, his curls bouncing on his bare shoulders, Louis wants to hug him so tight it would crash the snickerdoodles between them. “I’ll be over here if you need anything.”

 

Louis steps away from Harry’s doorstep, Cuddles runs into the flat. Harry pops his dimples and waves at Louis standing in the middle of No. 5 and No. 6, he shuts the door with a soft clink.

 

 _I'm singing in the rain,_ Louis hears a voice from behind the closed door, light and gentle.

 

 _Just singing in the rain!_ Louis turns back to his own door with a smile, he inhales the smell of lavender and cinnamon in his arms, he steps into his flat and shuts the door with his foot, the voice fading behind him.

 

_What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again..._

 

****

 

“Hey fuckface.”

 

“Hey, Luke.” Louis sighs from where he's sitting down on the couch, eyes locked on the TV and a plate of fried chicken and fries on his lap.

 

The worst thing about having one conversation with Harry besides the delicate hazy after effect he leaves on a person, is how he makes that person realize exactly how shit everyone else’s manners are.

 

It was some degree of torture.

 

“What's bangin’?” Luke chuckles and jumps next to Louis on the couch, Louis doesn't part his eyes from the screen.

 

“Not much. What's up?” He takes two fries and dips them in ranch, then bites down, focused on the episode of The Office.

 

“Came by to drop your keys.” Luke leans forward and takes a handful of fries from Louis’ plate. Louis inhales softly, no, he definitely doesn't hate when people take _his_ food from _his_ plate without asking, never.

 

“ _Is that The Office?_ ” The boy asks with his mouth full, Louis swallows his bite.

 

“No.” Louis says simply, the intro to The Office starts running on the screen.

 

Luke takes the keys to Louis’ flat out of his pocket, and throws them on Louis’ lap. “Whatever bro, catch you later.”

 

“Thanks for the keys.” Louis shoots him a short look and goes back to the screen, Luke stands up with a huff, Louis takes a bite from his chicken.

 

Luke leaves quickly, picking up his ringing phone on his way out.

 

Louis stands up lets the keys fall to the floor, walks over to the kitchen counter and puts his plate down, washes his hands in the sink. He goes back to the couch and picks up his grease smeared keys from the floor with a napkin and washes them.

 

It's the exact moment when his upstairs neighbour Zayn decides to start his weekly Shakira discography marathon.

 

Louis almost considers crawling to Harry with teary eyes and have a polite, basic human conversation.

 

It's been a day since Alex in No. 16 had half his face swollen from Alice in No. 15’s misplaced flowers. Harry dips his brush in a bright blue and twists it gently, watching the paint smear over the soft light brown hairs.

 

He raises the brush in the air gently, and glances over the canvas. There are light strokes of a darker blue on the upper left center resembling a sky coming alive, some white circles and thin grey lines following them. He places the brush at the end of a circle, presses down slowly and watches the white and blue mix in a small pool, he hits the canvas softly with his brush, leaving sharp marks of bright blue on an unfinished sky.

 

The brush moves between his fingers smoothly, like a swallow cutting through a navy blue sky with it's silver wings, Harry takes in a small breath, eyes locked on the sky growing on with color.

 

He stops, placing his wrist delicately on his knee, legs crossed. He watches the canvas and the shades of blue complete the sky together, through his eyes, something gold blooms at the corner of a cloud Harry's imagining. Then there's red circles reaching down, fading into a sharp orange, Harry watches the evening sun set before him, on the empty canvas.

 

He puts his brush down and picks up a thinner one, dips it in white, adds it on the bright blue, fading the colors together. He puts down the brush and takes another one and smears it with a heavy red.

 

Cuddles looks up from where she's lying on the ground, like she's checking on Harry, seeing if he's still painting, then puts her head down peacefully and shuts her eyes again.

 

His flat is silent, the only sound is the sunshine crooking the wooden table like a whisper. The street is empty, except for a young boy riding his bike and crossing it every now and then.

 

Harry hums lightly, satisfied with his work on the canvas, he shifts back and looks at the sky missing the sun. Suddenly, he's reminded of Louis.

 

He remembers Louis, his cheeks faint red the second his door swung open, his soft fringe and blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and boney fingers. The canvas is painted with red, Harry stops moving with the realization. He takes the bright blue one and thinks of Louis’ warm eyes, the strokes of his brush racing with the softness of Louis’ voice, losing. Louis’ cheeks are the red setting sun, wrapped in the blue of the sky that is his eyes.

 

Harry looks at the canvas and sees him.

 

But No. 6 doesn't have a name yet.

 

The flowers rest in their glass vase on Louis’ table, Louis is half asleep on the puffy dark red couch, a thin blanket over his chest and his cheeks smudged against his shoulder, head falling down.

 

It's late afternoon, and Harry abandons his painting; just the sky of a setting sun, but not the sun.

 

He dips his brushes in a cup of water and leaves them there, shuts the tiny paint boxes and places them next to each other, color coordinated.

 

He looks up at the canvas, unsure if it resembles 6pm or No. 6. If it's a portrait, or a view. He inhales the fresh paint, still wet, and his lips curve up into a small smile. He can see Louis’ red cheeks.  

 

He should catch up with Emma.

 

Harry stands up with a huff and rubs his eyes, fixing his curls. He glances over a peacefully sleeping Cuddles, and grabs his phone off the kitchen counter, texting Emma to see if she's up for an early dinner at his house.

 

He texts her about it, and gets an instant reply, the flower shop must be pretty empty. He's got two hours till she arrives, he thinks _alright_.

 

He goes to the kitchen, washes his hands in the sink with a little pout, trying to decide what to have for dinner.

 

The catalogue from the flower shop resting on the counter catches his eye.

 

Dinner for Emma in 2 hours, dinner, chicken, parma ham, mozzarella, mashed potatoes, a plate for No. 6, the catalogue, flower shop, flowers- Harry blends them all in together, and gets _flowers for No. 6_. Of course he gets flowers for No. 6.

 

In an hour and a half he's got the little table in the living room facing the big windows ready, just a beige tablecloth, nothing fancy. Two plates are set, with shiny forks and knives, two napkins and two clean glasses. Some rye bread, cheese and fresh samphire dressed with olive oil are placed next to the daisies and holly berries. There's strawberry jam and iced almonds, and a bottle of organic fruit juice. The ice cold bottle of Rosé wine rests against the windowsill, waiting for the fresh figs and apricots in the fridge.

 

Harry checks the time on his phone, and glances over the boiling potatoes. Cuddles is having her own dinner with salmon bits over the corner.

 

Harry takes the potatoes out after 10 minutes, and places them in a bowl, grabs a fork and starts mashing them.

 

After all the potatoes are mashed smoothly, he takes a spoon and runs it over the surface, then covers the bowl and puts it next to the cutting board.

 

He throws himself on the couch with a loud huff and stares up at the ceiling.

 

Peach garden roses, pink astilbe, white lillies, peonies, blue delphinium. Blue delphinium.

 

He inhales softly, gently stroking the side of his point finger with his thumb. His curls are all over his cheeks and smell like mangos.

 

He straightens his back, rubs his eyes and stands up.

 

He comes back in the living room with a thin jumper and comfortable jeans, his hair down on his shoulders. He rubs Cuddles’ head a couple of times, and lets go when she purrs and goes away to Harry's bedroom.

 

It's almost 7:30pm and the sound of the bell ringing reaches the walls of his flat.

 

“Evening, Harry.” Emma smiles politely, grabbing the bag hanging on her shoulder tightly.

 

“Evening, love.” Harry parts his arms for a warm hug, pressing a small kiss on Emma’s cheek.

 

“Sorry about the disaster yesterday.” Emma steps into Harry’s flat, Cuddles rushes to her and rubs her tail on her ankle, she crouches down with a smile. “ _Hey Cuddles, long time no see.”_

 

“It's alright.” Harry smiles down at them, thinking of completing his sentence but thinks better of it.

 

“The new guy Mike didn't see the card,” She stands up on her feet with a deep sigh, “He says he only heard me saying _Alex.”_

 

“Alice must be pretty pissed at us.” Harry chuckles quietly, Emma follows him to the kitchen, a soft song playing in the background.

 

“ _Me,_ you haven't done anything.”

 

“Mike, then. Neither did you.”

 

“I doubt she knows who Mike is.” Emma leans on the counter with a smile next to Harry, who returns it kindly.

 

“We’ve got plenty of time to talk about _Alice Leed_ tonight.” Harry pats Emma on the shoulder gently and walks over to take the tray out of the oven with his puffy gloves, glancing over the chicken.

 

“Oh, that smells _amazing,”_ Emma comments and inhales deeply, then she presses her lips together, “And we're not talking about Alice.”

 

“ _Hmm_.” Harry nods lightly, taking his gloves off and placing them on the counter. “Care for some almonds?”

 

Emma doesn't reply to his previous remark, only gives him a knowing look and turns to where Harry shoves her attention to.

 

“That's _lovely_ , Harry,” She comments sincerely on the table, a smile spreads over Harry's face.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Can't wait to try some of the samphire.” Emma is over the table, taking an almond and popping it in her mouth, giving a warm look to Harry.

 

Harry follows her to the table, and takes their glasses, opens the juice bottle and pours it in nicely, filling halfway.

 

“Figured you'd like the wine after dinner like me.” Harry mumbles as he hands Emma her glass, Emma nods as she takes a short sip.

 

“ _So_ ,” Emma puts her glass down after a comfortable silence.

 

“So.” Harry echoes, turning the almond between his fingers.

 

“Who's number six?”

 

Harry looks up from the tiny almond pressed on his thumb. “Uh.”

 

“Anyone interesting?” She curves her lips easily, taking another sip from her glass and watching Harry trip over some thoughts.

 

“ _Partially_.” The word lands on Harry’s lips after a long run. “I'm deciding.”

 

(A lie, he's already decided. Just let him live.)

 

“I just need the name for the card.” Emma shoots Harry a knowing look, Harry takes a small breath, then frowns slightly, because hold on.

 

“I… don't know his name.” He comes to the realization as the words leave his mouth, and it's weird, because it felt like he already knew his name.

 

“Have you two spoken?” Emma puts her glass down, placing her chin on top of her hand. “Like, properly?”

 

“I gave him snickerdoodles.” Harry says surely, different names running through his mind but none of them landing successfully on No. 6’s face.

 

“I think we can manage.” Emma nods confidently, takes a slice of rye bread.

 

“You think?”

 

“Yes. Trust me.” She takes her knife and dips it in the strawberry jam.

 

Harry takes some of the samphire and a piece of bread.

 

“Can you give them to me beforehand?” Harry puts his fork down.

 

“Like, without the card?”

 

“Yes, without the card.”

 

Emma takes the cheese plate Harry's handing to him and takes some on her own plate. “Alright. Just let me know which one you want.”

 

“I do have a few things in mind.”

 

****

 

It's Saturday.

 

Louis opens his door with the bell ringing and is greeted by a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

 

His first instinct is to look at Harry's door.

 

Then he looks down, at the blue delphiniums, and orange roses and lilac lillies, placed delicately with green seeds and leaves, with a couple of tiny daisies. He picks the basket up gently, pink lips parted.

 

His heart beats faster with the silver card resting in the middle, tucked with the lillies.

 

He picks it up slowly and swallows, his doormat kind of stings his bare little feet, and there's a chill breeze when the door to his flat is positioned to the stairs like this, but he doesn't mind. He reads the words.

 

_Knock knock._

_(No. 5)_

 

Louis reads the two words over and over again like he must be missing something. But no, here they are both.

 

He looks up at Harry’s door in silence.

 

It's Sunday.

 

Harry returns home around afternoon, running from the rain. There's a familiar card stuck in the side of his door, he picks it up with his stomach doing flips.

 

_Knock knock._

_(No. 5)_

Who's there?

 

His curls are damp on his skin, and he can't see very well through his wet eyelashes, but the card tingles his fingertips with Louis’ handwriting, and he wants to place two soft kisses on Louis’ eyelids.

 

Harry smiles and glances over Louis’ door, wanting nothing more than see it swing open again.

 

It's Monday.

 

Louis finds another bouquet on his doormat. (He definitely doesn't look out his door every morning to find a flower basket outside.)

 

It's there, and it's beautiful. Even though it only consists of lavender stock, white roses and purple trachillium, it makes Louis want to run his hands through the petals, inhale the soft smell in, he almost forgets to read the card.

 

_Knock knock._

_(No. 5)_

Who's there?

_No. 6._

 

Louis rolls his eyes with a small curve of his lips, gets back inside and shuts his door with a quiet clink.

 

It’s Tuesday.

 

Harry feels a kick to his stomach when he walks the stairs up to his door and the silver card is nowhere to be seen.

 

It's almost the evening, Harry looks over to Louis’ door, expecting the card appearing from thin air and flying down, landing gracefully on his hands.

 

But it doesn't, and Harry just stands there on his feet, hand grabbing his bag tight and a little pout on his lips, his curls falling over his shoulders, a little ringlet over his eyes.

 

He drags his feet to his door, a million thoughts running through his mind.

 

He takes his keys out, and stops when the apartment’s filled with echoes of someone's voice.

 

Harry carefully listens the voice greeting someone, then the rings of a bike. The apartment door shuts with a loud thud, and after a moment Harry rushes downstairs with the keys jingling in his hand.

 

“Evening, Ms. Everett.” He says with a choked up breath, staring at the old lady holding a thick package between her weak, shaky hands.

 

“Mail day!” She says with a bright smile, tightening her grip, Harry returns it, pressing his palm on the mail box No. 5 impatiently. “I _love_ mail day.”

 

“Me too.” Harry says through his teeth, taking a deep breath, Ms. Everett waves at him.

 

“See you next Tuesday, Harry.”

 

“You too, Ms. Everett.” Harry unlocks his mail box with the key to his door, a smile spreads over his face when the silver card shines at him.

 

_Knock knock._

_(No. 5)_

Who's there?

_No. 6._

No. 6 who?

 

It's Wednesday.

 

Louis tells himself the doormat will not be the first thing he checks when he wakes up today.

 

He can only convince himself for two hours.

 

It's a chilly day, and Louis’ got on an oversized jumper and his thick red socks on his little feet.

 

He stands up from the couch that only seems to sink down harder the more he sits on it, he walks over to his door and takes a small breath.

 

Louis opens the door slowly to the air blowing in his face and making his tummy go soft, he looks down and his mouth goes dry.

 

There are countless stems of coral roses spread all over his doorstep, doormat, and the hallway, and the top of the stairs, some even reaching Harry’s door. It's like a huge wave dying down, and fainting into little petals.

 

There, right in the middle, the silver card sits still.

 

Louis crouches down and picks it up slowly, the smell of the roses filling up the air, some brushing his soft skin.

 

_Knock knock._

_(No. 5)_

Who's there?

_No. 6._

No. 6 who?

_I don't know, you tell me._

 

****

 

Harry checks the time, it reads 5:24pm.

 

It's Thursday, the weather is cloudy with a hint of the cold breeze, and it's an odd day, odd things and all.

 

He's sitting on his couch, scribbling thoughts on a leather journal, the big glass window is open all the way, letting in the hazy after rain smell.

 

“Oh, the chicken.” Harry slams his palm on his forehead with a disappointed sigh, letting his pen drop on his thigh.

 

Cuddles jumps on the sofa next to him and meows, puts her paws on his leg and licks the back of his hand, fur brushing his arm.

 

“I know.” Harry mutters and lets out a small breath, grabbing his pen again.

 

Cuddles crawls in his lap and makes herself comfortable, twirling her tail around Harry’s wrist.

 

Louis rubs his wrist gently, still stirring the chocolate pudding mix on the stove. He inhales the smell and grabs the paper, checking the recipe again.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Louis Tomlinson _can_ get productive in the kitchen for 20 minutes without setting anything on fire.

 

After the mixture is thick and smooth, Louis leaves it on the stove to get bowls from the cupboard. He pours the pudding in 6 bowls with different colors.

 

He grabs a wooden spoon and sits up on the counter, feet floating in the air, in his mustard yellow socks and knit light brown sweater and black sweatpants.

 

He holds the pan carefully and dips his spoon in it, taking a mouthful of hot pudding. He looks down at the bowls as he presses his tongue on the spoon.

 

Because… who's gonna eat all that?

 

He swallows the pudding, and his eyes catch on the door. He should probably do it. He looks down at the bowls and counts them.

 

The bell rings. Louis frozes with the wooden spoon in his mouth, he looks back at the door with big eyes.

 

He puts the spoon back in the pan, puts the pan on the stove and bounces off the counter, licking his lips. He fixes his fringe with his arm, and sucks the tip of his thumb.

 

He takes in a small breath and twists the doorknob.

 

“Hey 6.” Zayn is leaning on the wall, wearing a black sweatshirt with black sweatpants, Louis notices he got a haircut.

 

“Hey Zayn.” Louis breathes out, eyes catching a glimpse of the door No. 6 before they land back on Zayn’s watching him carefully.

 

“I was just gonna ask if you have some milk.”

 

“Oh.” Louis looks back at the kitchen, then turns to Zayn. “I think I have a bottle left. Come on in.”

 

Zayn follows Louis into his living room with slow steps, eyes locked on the couch.

 

“Have you noticed you have enough flowers to open a flowershop in your living room?” Zayn comments, coral roses spread over the couch and two big flower baskets filled with countless colorful petals, and lavenders placed in a vase on the table.

 

“Oh, I was looking for those _all day.”_ Louis sighs dramatically, taking the bottle of milk from his fridge.

 

“Ha.”

 

“Would you like some pudding?” Louis stops before he leaves the kitchen, eyeing the bowls of pudding.

 

“Alright, I'd like your name first.” Zayn crosses his arms on his chest, shooting a look at Louis walking over with a bowl of pudding in his hand.

 

“Louis.” He hands Zayn the pudding.

 

“Thanks Louis.” Zayn takes the bottle of milk in his other hand.

 

“You're welcome, Zayn.”

 

Louis sinks on the couch after Zayn leaves, fingers brushing roses and hydrangeas.

 

There is another person he should introduce himself to.

 

Harry’s eyes drift over to the window and the darkening sky, the smell of brewing coffee beans from the bakery makes it’s way to his flat, and Harry can almost feel the hot bittersweet taste on his tongue.

 

He runs his fingers on Cuddles’ back, then sits up on the couch. He puts his book on the table and presses a soft kiss on Cuddles’ head, rubs her ears gently.

 

He goes to his bedroom to put on his black jeans after searching for something both comfortable and nice and failing, then he grabs a puffy jumper.

 

He comes back to the living room and runs a hand through his curls, bouncing them up on his shoulders, he grabs his keys and puts his wallet in his back pocket.

 

Louis takes a deep breath. He's gonna do it. Nothing good comes from waiting for something good to come. Louis frowns slightly with that thought, but stands up anyway, a couple of lillies bounce off the couch with him. He feels the drums in his chest as he closes the distance to his door.

 

Louis leans his forehead on the hard oak with his eyes shut, his hand placed on the doorknob. He lets out a small sigh. _Just walk out to him,_ he nods slightly, _knock on his door._ Then what?

 

He opens his eyes with the muffled sound of jingling keys breaking the silence, and a loud thud of a door closing shut. He twists the doorknob without a second thought.

 

Harry turns to him, and he would stutter a name if he actually had one. He feels countless flowers bloom in his stomach, silver and gold lines lighting up his veins under his skin like the magma making it's way through a surface on igneous rocks near a volcano, he feels like his fingertips are melting the keys all over his hand, running down his fingers and burning him up.

 

“Hi.” Louis says, and Harry decides on the next bouquet of flowers he will get.

 

“I'm Louis.” Sunflowers.

 

“Nice to meet you.” The words slip off Harry's lips without him noticing.

 

Louis swallows the stupid _I've missed you_ forming on his tongue.

 

“I’m Harry.” Harry adds after a short silence, knowing Louis probably knows.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Louis says quietly, and it feels wonderful, knowing Harry, and Harry knowing him back.

 

“I was just going out to get some coffee,” Harry puts the keys in his pocket, eyes locked on Louis. “Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

 

“Sure,” Louis takes a small breath, suddenly the fabric of his sweatpants rub his knee, letting him know he's got them on. “I'll put something on then.”

 

Harry glances over him, then tilts his head. “Actually, why don't you just come in?”

 

Louis watches Harry take his keys back out, and his mouth feels a little dry. Okay, that's good.

 

“Do you like chocolate pudding?” He finds himself blurting out.

 

Harry is unlocking his door, he shoots a look back at Louis. “I do. Why?”

 

“I just made some.” Louis rubs his cheek. What is he doing?

 

“Oh, _that's_ why it smells so good here.” Harry takes a deep breath and feels the heat rising up in his gut when he turns back and sees the look on Louis’ face.

“Why don't you bring two?”

 

“Yeah.” Louis breaths out with a calm sigh, “Is the coffee place close?”

 

“It's just downstairs, I'll take ten minutes.” Harry rubs his jaw, eyes locked on the ground for a moment, “Wait, what kind of coffee do you like?”

 

“I'm more fond of tea, to be quite honest. Anything not too sweet or bitter will be fine.” Louis rubs his hands together, feeling the chill breeze hitting him.

 

“Alright then, Louis.” Harry can't help the smile appearing on his lips, with Louis’ name so light and familiar around his tongue. “Make yourself at home.”

 

“Don't be late.” Louis finds himself saying as he watches Harry going down the stairs.

 

“Would I ever?” Harry looks back at him with a smile, disappearing down to the first floor.

 

When Harry's back in just over ten minutes, holding two cups of coffee and his lips dark from the cold wind, his hands feel too numb to take his keys out.

 

He presses down on the bell with his wrist and Louis opens the door, and there's something so wonderful about coming home to Louis after a cold breeze dancing in his curls. Louis takes the coffee cups from his hand, Harry steps in and shuts the door, catching a breath.

 

He watches Louis’ little feet tap away to the kitchen and his socks dragging on the floor. He can't help the small smile spreading, and he can't feel his lips because of the cold, but it's there, and it feels just right.

 

After a long conversation of the weather, different types of pudding, flowers (of course), and Louis missing hot water in his flat every Sunday, they're on the opposite sides of Harry's couch in the living room, and it's so cold Harry might almost suggest getting a fire going.

 

The window is already closed, Louis must've felt cold too.

 

“That was _delicious_.” Harry comments as he finishes his pudding, putting the empty bowl on the table.

 

“Thank you, the coffee was quite nice.” Louis says softly, inhaling the beautiful smell of chocolate and coffee.

 

“No worries.” Harry grabs a very hungry Cuddles off the table, licking around the remaining pudding on the side of Harry's empty bowl. “ _Cuddles_ , off.”

 

“Harry, you know I have to ask.” Louis watches Harry drop Cuddles on the ground gently, and shifts in his place. “Why _Cuddles_?”

 

Harry leans his back on the couch, looks over to Louis. “She liked cuddling with me, I liked cuddling with her.”

 

“Do you think she named you cuddles too?” Louis watches the cat go around in circles on the carpet, and sink down comfortably.

 

“Do I look like a cuddles to you?” Harry asks Louis, his voice soft.

 

Louis smiles at Harry with the words leaving his mouth, his cheeks feel like two big bubbles. “You do.”

 

“Now that my identity is out, I'll let you know I'm actually a really good cuddler.” Harry says confidently, pressing a ringlet behind his ear.

 

“Oh, you must've known I'm a cuddle inspector then.”

 

“You inspect cuddles?” Harry frowns slightly, his soft lips curving into a small pout.

 

“No, I inspect _cuddlers.”_ Louis says, his voice gentle.

 

There's a short silence, Harry shifts in his place. “Then it should be _cuddler inspector.”_

 

“But that rhymes.” Louis comments from his side of the couch, hands locked on his tummy, “And it's not very intimidating.”

 

“How do I look, inspector?” Harry raises his hands in the air with a warm smile, curls falling over to his eyes.

 

Louis gives him a long look and a serious hum. “Not bad, not bad. Have to actually observe you on the job, though.”

 

The last thing Louis is expecting for Harry to do is crawling over to him on the couch and wrap his arms around his thick jumper, but it really should have been the first thing.

 

Harry sinks down on Louis’ side comfortably, cheek nudging his shoulder and curls all around his neck and chest. Louis feels familiar, and Harry can tell by his small breaths.

 

Louis places a hand on Harry's back gently, and Harry lets out a soft breath, Louis feels like he's melting underneath him.

 

“How's your observation going?” Harry's voice is small, his nature of getting sleepy the moment he cuddles someone is surfacing gracefully.

 

“Quite well.” Louis breathes out, looking down at Harry on his chest. He feels more calm than ever, and it's such a glowing feeling, the bond they just started sharing tying them together so effortlessly, so comforting and familiar.

 

He feels like a child dropping ice cream on the sizzling asphalt when Harry lets go, and sits up straight on the couch next to him, curls messy over his eyes.

 

He gives Louis a warm smile and attempts to push his curls back, only tangling them more. Louis raises his hand delicately, and Harry slows down with Louis’ touch on his curls, pushing them to the side properly.

 

“Thanks.” Harry whispers softly, Louis’ fingertips brush his cheeks softly as he takes his hand back.

 

“S’ alright.” Louis murmurs, watching Harry's parted lips for a second, then looking back up at his eyes.

 

Harry takes in a small breath to say something maybe so wonderful, but Cuddles proudly jumps up on the couch between them, causing both of them to flinch away.

 

“Someone’s threatened.” Louis comments, patting her head gently.

 

“Sounds like I made it.” Harry says with a sigh, and moves back to his side of the couch, Louis actually feels his warmth going away like a spider web sticking on the back of his hand and someone pulling it away.

 

“Yeah.” He says as he leans forward, rubbing under Cuddles’ ear.

 

“I think she likes you.” Harry says sincerely, watching Cuddles twirl her tail around Louis’ wrist.

 

“I'm quite likable.” Louis leans forward and lets her sniff his nose, she licks it once and Louis moves away with a soft chuckle and scrunching his nose.

 

Harry watches him, and wants to watch him just making tea, going through the channels on TV, reading the papers. He just wants to sit and admire what he's like. “You are.”

 

Louis feels a small bump in his throat with the way Harry quietly said it, but tries not to give it away. Cuddles makes it harder and jumps off his lap, making her way into Harry's bedroom for a long nap on the soft carpet.

 

“It's rather late, I wouldn't wanna bother you.” Louis stands up with a huff, hands on the pockets of his sweatpants.

 

“Oh please, I'd hate to let you go.” Harry says, standing up with him, and he means it. (Everything's a little more soft and quiet for a while.)

 

“I have to.” Louis mumbles quietly, looking up at Harry with a sigh.

 

Harry stares at Louis, and can't help the small smile on his face and nod, with a little _I know._

 

Harry follows Louis to the doorstep, watching his back on his way. It's not unexpected when Harry opens the door, Louis turns swiftly to him with a small breath.

 

Harry's lips are screaming _kiss me_ and Louis _can't_ , wants it so much but just can't. He opens his mouth and he is pretty sure nothing else but the words _I can't_ are gonna leave his lips, with how much it's bouncing around in his mind.

 

“Thank you for the flowers.” He says with a small sigh, their knees almost bump. “All of them.”

 

“You're welcome, Louis.” Harry says softly, the yellow lights from his flat reflects on Louis’ skin. Of course, he just skips one little detail. Not all of them yet.

 

Louis smiles warmly at Harry, and takes his keys out as he walks towards the door to his flat.

 

Harry shuts his door with a soft clink, and just stands there, wrapped around the warm air and the faint hint of Louis’

calming smell.

 

He looks back at the couch, and it feels like he's seeing a golden silhouette of Louis just sitting there a minute ago.

 

He walks slowly to the marble kitchen counter, and takes the ballpoint pen off it gently, eyes locked on Louis’ ghost. He opens a drawer and takes a card out, he places it in front of him gently, and leans his elbow on the counter.

 

Louis is just so bright.

 

****

 

Louis decides to stay home for the day.

 

It's been a couple of days since he was with Harry in his flat, their only interaction after that was the _good evening_ ’s they shared, because when Harry leaves the house in the morning Louis is onto his seventh dream.

 

He is lying on the couch with the remote on his tummy, and the curtains are shut.

 

The TV is still on despite nothing's on TV.

 

His eyes glance over his flat lazily, the light brown walls and the boring tiny wooden ships from his aunt resting on the shelves.

 

He can't help but think of Harry's flat compared to his, no matter the ugly, sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

He turns on his back and looks up at the ceiling. He wants to stay in Harry's living room, just next to the blue lillies and never leave.

 

One look at Harry would make you want to do good, it's almost impossible how he's so full of spirits. Louis can't help the warm feeling in his tummy with Harry's smile, and the softness of his voice when he talks. Enough of the glow, alright.

 

Louis frowns slightly, realizing he found himself thinking about Harry for what it feels like the millionth time in the past 3 days, again.

 

He wants to spend all his days with Harry, talking about _anything_ , anything. It's good with Harry.

 

It feels like no one will be the way Harry is to him, it's different, and they're not friends or anything yet.

 

It's a foggy day. The sun is missing in the grey sky and Louis feels a little tired.

He sighs and turns to his side, eyes on the TV screen, the pictures moving swiftly, different colored lights blinking on his face.

 

He thinks of hitting Zayn up, but he can't find the will to take himself off from his comfortable seat on the couch that easily.

 

His eyes glance over the door, thinking he heard a faint knock on it. He lets out a small breath and looks back at the TV.

 

It’s cloudy with a small glance of the sun when Louis wakes up, from where he’s been asleep for the last hour, his hair is messy and his shoulder hurts just a bit.

 

He drags himself off the couch, and goes to the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea. There's an odd feeling in his stomach he just can't ignore.

 

His eyes are locked on the door as the water starts to sizzle with the heat, and Louis takes a small breath, palms against the counter.

 

It's like when you look up at the sky and all the small black birds are flying together, above you and to the mountains, it makes you look back at where they’re flying from.

 

Louis takes small steps to the door and thinks of black birds flapping their wings, he twists the doorknob.

 

And there's the earthquake the birds are flying away from, resting on his doorstep, in the shape of beautiful sunflowers, tightening Louis’ chest with the warmest feelings.

 

Louis picks them up and the card falls down to his feet, the petals brush his cheek when he crouches to pick it up.

 

_They will face you_

_when you outshine it._

_H._

 

Louis can almost hear Harry's soft voice whispering the words on his skin, with the dark blue sky and their eyes shining behind the sheets.

 

Almost, but he wants the real thing.

 

It took a couple of silver cards to decide but he truly does.

 

The following days drag on roughly with the thoughts weighing down Louis’ mind.

 

Is it just the way Harry is? Sweet to everyone, caring and thoughtful, too polite for small talk. Maybe Louis is reading all this wrong.

 

But maybe, -just maybe, this way is the one Louis wants the most- it really _is_ different with Louis. He hopes it is, because it's different with Harry.

 

He knows he can never guess anything by just making himself comfortable on the couch, avoiding the door. But what if when he asks, it turns out to be the ‘way Harry is’? What if they don't talk anymore, and if he doesn't get flowers, and loving words?

 

 _Loving_ words. It should be different with Louis. It needs to be.

 

Just when Louis is about to go mental in the never ending cycle of _Thoughts On My Next Door Neighbour,_ his phone rings loudly.

 

“Hey?”

 

Louis frowns with the words flooding through anxiously from the other line. “Wait, do what?”

 

“Yeah, I got a key-” Louis stands up on his feet, looking around, “Are you sure he'll be alright till I get there?”

 

“I'm leaving right now, you know I should probably take him to a vet too?” Louis walks to his backpack, and starts digging in it's pockets to find the right key to his friend’s apartment, his voice concerned.

 

“No listen-” He takes the key out and puts it in his pocket, “I can find a bike or something mate, I'll be there quick, I promise.”

 

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Louis breathes out and rushes to the door, and shutting it harshly and stumbling down the stairs.

 

He borrows a bike from the cheerful girl in the bakery running around with a trail of cupcakes, a pink _P_ embroidered on her yellow shirt. They share polite smiles, and Louis gets on his way to the French Pitbull who hasn't stopped crying for the past 2 hours, knocking the stuff around in the flat.

 

No one outside can make out when the sun sets because of the darkening clouds above, Louis checks his phone, low on battery.

 

“Louis, _thank god_ ,” A young man with messy curls swings the glass door to the vet open, a brown scarf resting on his neck looking like it's gonna swallow his face whole. “Thank you.”

 

“It's alright, mate, he's okay-” Louis places a hand on the shoulder of his very distressed friend, standing up from the red seats opposite the small operation room.

 

“What is it then?”

 

“He's got foxtail in his ear, apparently,”

 

“That's not possible.” The young man frowns, the smell of the different kinds of pet foods, toys and sound of commercials on the little TV filling the air.

 

“I mean, that's what I was told.” Louis says simply, his hands locked in front of him, voice small.

 

Their chat is interrupted by a loud crack in the sky, lightning shines inside through the big glass windows, causing Louis to flinch and look outside.

 

First the raindrops are soft and small, then they start to heave as Louis watches, and at some point his friend leaves to get in the operation room. Then the sound of raindrops hitting the window sucks up the air, swallowing everything else.

 

Louis’ phone buzzes in his pocket with a notification, he takes it out and the top right corner of the screen reads 1%, and before Louis can even finish saying _percent_ in his head, it shuts down.

 

It thunders loudly and Louis looks up at the sky through the window, putting his phone in his pocket.

 

It's possible he didn't think this through.

 

Louis watches the cars out on the road, windshield wipers swaying swiftly, and the tail lights shining red. The rain gets heavier as the moment passes, with Louis not even attempting to start thinking about what he's gonna do.

 

After about fifteen minutes, Louis talks with his friend, who’s going to stay in the vet for a while. Louis thinks about waiting for the rain to pass, but the bright lightning followed by the growling thunder tells him _no_. The storm doesn't seem to be fading soon, not much to Louis’ hopes.

 

There are a couple of people running outside with no umbrellas, some with heavy raincoats, and a couple of kids laughing away, jumping in puddles. The cars seem to slow down, ear piercing sounds of the horns unheard with the thunder.

 

After the goodbyes, Louis takes a step out into the heavy storm with little drops of rain smearing over his phone screen through his sweatpants. He is about forty minutes away from home, and the traffic can't handle one more bike.

 

Louis isn't looking forward to get between the slick cars and attempt to ride his bike anyway, going at about the same speed of a sixty year old turtle, of course with a rainstorm on his slender shoulders.

 

His t-shirt is already soaked and his fringe is all over his eyes, one of the worst decisions he made during the period of time starting from the last 2 hours and still counting, was wearing a t-shirt because his flat was too warm. Well, there he goes. Not like he couldn't put a semi sleeve, maybe a thin jumper, of course not. If there's a disaster coming, Louis doesn't doubt himself at making the worst decisions.

 

His feet hurt from walking when he makes it to the apartment door, after putting the bike in front of the now closed bakery, no one around to be seen. He didn't enjoy his outdoor shower and still doesn't, he is pretty sure his phone won't work anymore and he can't count his fingers without looking at them.

 

He flinches with the thunder cracking above him, he tries to slide his wet hand into the pockets of his sweatpants to look for his key. His hair is dripping wet with the rain, tangling with his eyelashes. Raindrops race on his cheeks, rolling down one by one. He's tasted the rain more than he’d like to, and his vision is a bit blurry from trying to blink with it falling in his eyes, tearing them up.

 

He is absolutely _freezing_ , he can hear his teeth chattering faintly. There's water in his shoes and his neck is exposed to the rain and the wind, only causing him to shiver more. His lips are turning dark purple, and his knuckles are white, he can't feel his fingers anyway.

 

He checks all his pockets. He has two pockets. If it's possible, Louis freezes even more with the realization that only thing he got in them is his stupid phone, which is dead.

 

“ _Fuck_.” He breathes out, a lightning cracks open the sky, causing him to hold on to the door and shut his eyes.

 

He opens his eyes slowly when his hand brushes on the buttons, reading numbers to everyone's flats. He looks up at the bells with raindrops dripping down his eyelashes, lips parted with his breath coming out in a fog.

 

He reaches out a hand to a bell, he would clench his teeth if he could. He presses on the button and places his head on the wall, palm against the door.

 

“ _Hello_?” The soft, familiar voice buzzes from the tiny speaker after a moment, and Louis smiles with the raindrops hitting the back of his neck harshly. “Who is it?”

 

“Harry, it's me.” Louis breathes out, his lips tremble with the cold, his voice barely hearable. It thunders again and he flinches, frowning slightly with the heavy thud in his gut. “It's Louis.”

 

The door unlocks with a loud buzz shortly after, Louis pushes it open, his arms weak. He stumbles his way upstairs to the second floor, Harry's door swings open as he is on the last three stairs, dragging himself slowly.

 

“Oh, my god.” Harry mutters when he catches the first glimpse of Louis, soaking wet and shivering in his clothes, Louis sprints his feet to his door as Harry steps out to reach out for him.

 

Harry takes Louis in his arms without a thought, his wet hair slick under his chin and marking a big spot on his thick sweater. Louis’ hands curl up on his chest instinctively, he takes in the warmth of the flat, and Harry’s sweater, and, Harry.

 

“ _Forgot my key._ ” His voice barely comes out, he shivers and Harry places a hand on the side of his neck, just where the raindrops hit him the most, Louis trembles with the touch. “Caught in the storm.”

 

“ _It's alright, love_.” Harry whispers softly in his hair, lips getting wet with the rain, he embraces Louis tighter. Louis can't help his headache, not to mention the frustration, his mind runs in the same circles around Harry's words.

 

Louis is shivering under his touch, and Harry just can't bring himself to let him go.  

 

After the warmth hits Louis properly, he starts to feel his white fingers grabbing Harry's sweater, realizing he’s on a bed.

 

He's in Harry's bed.

 

“I'm in your bed.” Louis looks up at Harry, his voice faint and soft.

 

“You are.” Harry mumbles lowly, holding a towel in his lap, sitting in front of Louis on the sheets. “Try drying your hair, alright? I will get you some clothes.”

 

Louis nods and takes the pink towel off Harry's hands, feeling drained, raising an arm in the air physically pains him.

 

He does a poor job of drying his hair when Harry walks back to his bed from the big wardrobe, holding a big, puffy sweater and thick socks with sweatpants.

 

Louis changes into them slowly with Harry listening to the boiling water for the promised tea, in the kitchen with Cuddles nudging her tail on his leg.

 

In five minutes, Louis is almost disappearing in one of Harry's sweaters, Harry puts down a cup of tea, and even if Louis’ hair is still dripping on the pillow, everything is where they should be. The rain is softer.

 

The curtains are shut, the room is dark with the only light coming from the slightly open door to the hallway and the quiet lightnings that streak up in the sky. Harry settles in next to Louis under the thick blanket, Louis’ skin is still shining faintly with the rain, his hair is damp and he tightens his grip on the blanket when he feels Harry's shoulder pressing flushed against his.

 

It's quiet when Louis doesn't hear the rain and can't keep his eyes off Harry.

 

It's quiet.

 

“Warmed up?” Harry asks softly, eyes searching for Louis’ in the dark.

 

“Trying.” Louis sighs, shifting in his place slightly, he adds with a quiet voice. “Your sweater’s helping.”

 

“I’m glad, do you need more blankets?”

 

“It's quite alright.” Louis takes a small breath as Harry hands him the hot cup of tea he picked up from the bedside table. “Thank you.”

 

“I didn't know if you’d like daisy tea, but it helps you sleep.” Harry says with a warm smile on his face, watching Louis take three long sips in silence.

 

Louis holds the cup in his hands, feeling the hot porcelain warming up his palms, almost burning them. He looks up at Harry to find his gentle eyes, he's unreal. “Thank you for all this, Harry.”

 

“You're welcome.” Harry says softly, his voice only fading with his next words. “Are you done?”

 

Louis looks down at the small poodle of tea at the bottom of his cup, his response delayed, still hanging on Harry's smile. “Yeah,” He sighs, handing Harry the cup and their fingers brush, Louis’ fingers are warmer than the hot cup of tea.

 

Suddenly, a lightning streaks and a loud thunder follows, and in seconds the rain is back.

 

Harry puts the cup down on the bedside table, then turns back to Louis, both grabbing the sheets tightly. They listen to the heavy rain, eyes locked on each other with soft compliments that their tongues can’t wrap around just yet.

 

Harry slowly shifts in his place, getting closer to Louis who looks down at the sheets twisted in his grip on his lap.

 

“I loved the sunflowers.” Louis breathes out, lips barely moving. There's a loud thunder, it feels like the raindrops are gonna break down the glass with how hard they're falling down.

 

“I was trying.” Harry mutters sincerely, watching Louis’ dainty hands. “I think they're just right for you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“ _Yeah_.” Harry takes a small breath with the growling thunder. “Sunflowers remind me of you.”

 

Louis stays quiet, toying slightly with the sheets and his lips curving up in a small smile, subtle in the dark, Harry pulls the sheets closer slowly.

 

“Louis?”

 

Louis looks up at Harry through his eyelashes, with the soft whisper of his name on his lips. “Harry?”

 

Harry places his hand on Louis’ gently, burning with heat, the raindrops hit harsher with the sky cracking open with lightnings.

 

Harry’s thumb is caressing the back of his hand, and Louis is holding in a small breath, their eyes locked on each other- close enough, he can feel Harry's warm breath on his lips. Louis exhales slowly with Harry's hand shifting to press his palm against his.

 

“ _Louis.”_ Harry says again, soft and quiet. “I wanna kiss you.”

 

Louis feels the thunder cracking the sky open, and his stomach is doing flips, his lips are parted. He searches for words but can't seem to find them, he just lets out a small sigh with Harry’s hand coming up to the side of his neck, resting gently.

 

If he could, Harry would just watch Louis like this for hours. His eyes shining bright and leaning into his touch instinctively. But he can't, so he just leans in, lips brushing together for a moment. Louis’ hot breath hits his parted lips, Harry pushes his hand on Louis’ neck firmer.

 

Louis shifts and presses their lips together, a hand going up to hold Harry's wrist. Harry parts their lips for a second to get a small breath, and it's exactly that moment when Louis realizes he wants it back.

 

They are kissing again, with Louis moving closer on the sheets, Harry places his other hand on his waist, Louis curving his back.

 

Louis lets out a small sigh into the kiss, the raindrops hit the windows hardly. Harry feels so good Louis wants to cry, he just presses their lips together again.

 

Harry can't seem to catch a breath with how eager Louis is, he shifts up to meet with Louis’ mouth.

 

They part again, with Louis kneeling on the bed next to Harry who’s leaning back, lips an inch apart.

 

“Kiss me again.” Louis says breathily, hand moving on Harry's shoulder.

 

So Harry does, and it's wonderful, again. Louis was expecting the feeling to die down but it doesn't, because it's just _new_ and it feels unbelievably luring. He just wants it to last longer, over again, and more.

 

When they part again, Harry's got a small bite on his shiny lips and Louis shifts to lie down on his side. Daisy tea does make you incredibly sleepy.

 

“You're cruel.” Louis murmurs against Harry's sweater, hand on his tummy stroking the fabric.

 

“How so?” Harry looks down at him with a smile carrying the haze of their kiss, voice low but gentle.

 

“You gave me daisy tea before kissing me,” Louis fingers curl with the thunder, “I wouldn't drink that if I knew it’d put me right to sleep.”

 

Harry listens to the rain, Louis warming him up familiarly. “Are you saying you want to have more kisses?”

 

“That's exactly what I'm saying.” Louis mumbles with his eyes fluttering shut, Harry strokes his back gently.

 

There's a long silence filling up the room, only broken with the storm outside. Louis shifts up on Harry's side, head resting calmly on his chest. Harry pulls up the blankets carefully, letting out a small sigh after settling down.

 

“I liked kissing you.” Harry’s lips brush Louis’ hair when he talks.

 

Harry thinks Louis fell asleep with the silence following his words and only soft breaths coming out of Louis, but he’s wrong. Louis so very soberly moves up his hand to the side of Harry's neck, eyes still shut. He gently caresses him, Harry exhales comfortably. Okay, it's different with him now.

 

“ _Cuddles no-”_ is the first thing Louis hears before he opens his eyes to Harry's cat jumping on his tummy with her claws out, from the bedside table.

 

Louis groans loudly and buries his face in the pillow, muttering a loud _fuck,_ muffled with the fabric.

 

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry.” Harry puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder, Cuddles purring between them. Louis lets out a breath, and rolls on his side enough to take a look at Harry with one eye.

 

Harry's curls are messy and there's a thin red headband plastered on his head, and he looks like something you would wanna wake up to every morning. Louis can manage a couple of claws on his stomach.

 

“S’ alright, needed a good waking up.” Louis breathes out and rolls on his back, patting Harry's knee twice.

 

Louis rubs his tummy softly a couple of times, fringe over his eyes and just woke up, Harry feels his fingertips buzz.

 

Louis is picking his damp clothes from the chair, where they were folded and placed nicely. Harry convinces him to stay a little longer for tea.

 

Harry is thinking of getting a new stack of silver cards as he watches Louis walk to his door wearing his sweater.

 

And Louis does it again, the thing where he turns back to Harry when they're standing on the doorstep, backing the wind and making Harry feel like everything actually froze for a moment.

 

“I'll give you back your clothes tomorrow.” Louis says, his grip tight on his own.

 

“Oh, it's alright.”

 

Louis toys with the bottom of Harry's sweater slightly, Harry notices but doesn't look.

 

“So, see you soon.” Louis says quietly, looking up at Harry. “Thanks again.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

Harry watches Louis step away from his door to No.6, a small smile on both of their faces.

 

Louis stares down at his door and remembers what the problem was in the first place. He stops, feeling Harry's eyes locked on his back. Alright. He turns to him and presses his lips together.

 

“ _Harry_ , do you have the number of-”

 

“What's up?” Zayn steps down from the last set of stairs, stops and stares at the two.

 

Louis looks at him quietly. “Uh, I’m locked out.”

 

“Good morning, Zayn.” Harry says warmly, offering a smile.

 

“Morning Harry.” Zayn leans on the wall, arms crossed on his chest.

 

Louis pauses for a moment, “ _Um,_ do you have the-”

 

“Oh, I can pick a lock.” Zayn says casually, leading the silence on.

 

 _Of course,_ Louis thinks, holding his damp clothes with his eyes locked on Zayn, who straightens his back and fixes his hair.

 

“Do you have a bobby pin?” Zayn looks at Harry, who just reaches up a hand to his hair and takes out a bobby pin.

 

 _Oh of course_ , Louis thinks again. Zayn walks over and takes it, moving over to Louis’ door and motioning for him to move away.

 

Louis takes the opportunity to go and stand closer to Harry, slow steps. They watch Zayn fiddle with the door lock, and just when Louis is about to state how stupid this idea is after a moment passing with a handful of nothing, his door swings open slowly with a soft clink.  

 

“Thanks, Zayn, I'm not creeped out or anything.” Louis walks past him, and grabs the bobby pin from his fingers, a smirk on Zayn’s face.

 

“You're welcome. Don't forget your key next time.”

 

“Ha. Go back to your house.” Louis turns back on the doorstep, Harry watching the two quietly with the corner of his lips curved up.

 

“You know, I have many bobby pins lying around. Don't piss me off.” Zayn points at Louis, standing at the top of the stairs, next to Harry's door.

 

“God, you're creepy.”

 

“I should switch to flowers, you’d like that.” Zayn notes the slight change of expression on Louis’ face, so does Harry. “What d’you think, Harry?”

 

“I’d love to help with that, if you mean it.” Harry turns to him, pushes a curl behind his ear.

 

Zayn is doing nothing to ignore Louis just standing there all _flustered_ , it's a sight.

 

“Maybe some time later, mate.” Zayn glances over Harry with a small nod, then turns back to Louis, “Got a lot on my back.”

 

“Oh, you're having so much fun, aren't you.” Louis says sharply.

 

“I am, thank you,” Zayn interrupts him, voice calm.

 

“Don't overwork yourself, then.” Louis is suddenly reminded Harry is right there next to Zayn, watching him closely. He clenches his muscles from rolling his eyes, because fuck Zayn. After a short silence he looks at Harry, waits for his bitter voice to faint into thin air. And he softens his expression instinctively, and lets a gentle wave run on his tongue. “Bye, Harry.”

 

“Bye, Louis.” Harry replies, with Zayn just pressing his lips together, because. He watches Louis shut his door softly.

 

“Alright, I'm off.” Zayn breathes out as he waves a small hand at Harry, turning his back to him.

 

“Bye, Zayn.” Harry watches him go down the stairs, a ringlet falling in front of his eyes and tangling with his eyelashes.

 

****

 

“Cuddles, where is my hair tie?” Harry spells out the words firmly, bending over to level with Cuddles’ big yellow eyes.

 

Cuddles looks up at him, swinging her tail around.

 

“I know you got it. You can’t fool me.”

 

Harry takes a small breath through his clenched teeth, watching Cuddles sitting on the carpet like a statue, not even her whiskers moving. Harry thinks she _has_ to blink sometime in the next hour.

 

“Did you swallow it? I hope you didn't swallow it.” Harry says quietly, then looks up when a couple footsteps make their way into the living room.

 

“An intervention? I promise I won't try to fix anything again.” Louis looks down at Harry, holding a cup of tea. “I _did_ play around with the shower a bit. But nothing's getting flooded again, trust me.”

 

Harry zones out everything after _an intervention?_ , only thing in his sight is the hair tie wrapped around Louis’ delicate wrist.

 

“So the water was like _boiling_ , I…” A short beat passes in silence with Louis’ voice fading, staring at Harry, “There's another cup on the counter if you want.”

 

“No, no, it’s… you got my hair tie.”

 

Louis looks down at his hands, suddenly feeling the light weight of Harry's hair tie around his wrist. “Oh.”

 

“I must've took it when it was in bed this morning.” Louis looks back at Harry, his voice quiet and words slower than usual, “So it wouldn't get lost.”

 

Harry takes the hair tie from the hand Louis reaches out, puts it on his own wrist, rubbing the bone slightly. “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, s’alright.” Louis mumbles, he looks in Cuddles’ direction when the cat moves after giving up on imitating inanimate objects.

 

“Louis,” Harry breathes out, eyes locked down on the hair tie.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Would you stay for another night?”

 

The room falls into a comfortable silence.

 

It's not a secret that they both liked kisses. It's been more than two months since they shared their first one. They liked it, and they’ve been liking it for more than eight weeks.

 

Louis stayed in Harry's bed, with Harry's curls tangling in his stubble, and sometimes Cuddles licking the back of his hand with Harry's calm breaths filling up the silent room. Harry stayed in Louis’ bed, Louis’ flat had less sunshine in the morning so Harry had little sneezing fits for a few days, but Louis got a blanket. He brought breakfast to bed and finally unpacked the PS4.

 

Louis went out with Perrie, and she actually taught him to bake a little. Harry was glowing when he found out. So right after Louis just found out how to mix a cookie dough Harry pulled him into his kitchen. Louis scrunched his nose with the first bite off a slice of cake. (It was lemon cake. Louis put in too much lemon zest instead of half the cup. _It's a lemon cake_ , he defended himself, _so I put in lemons.)_ And Harry just smiles and nods, taking another bite without even flinching from the strong taste.

 

It's Louis’ first cake.

 

Baking is good with Harry, even better when he can actually _do_ something, _and_ with Harry. But still, nothing beats painting with Harry.

 

Well, not _with_ Harry.

 

Louis doesn't remember how many times Harry told him he looks amazing in this light, and a bunch of other crap about proportions Louis doesn't bother to understand. But he knows he will never get tired of just sitting in front of the big glass window in Harry's living room, keeping his head still so whichever flower Harry placed delicately in his hair wouldn't fall.

 

Louis has the perfect time to watch Harry, he doubts Harry even notices how he looks at him. Every painting of Louis is left unfinished, placed in somewhere in the living room. Harry doesn't like finishing them, so he said. _Like this,_ he said, _I got different parts of you._ One of those parts is uncoloured, and some only have eyes and a faint line of a sharp cheekbone. Harry thinks it just gets his point across, no need for more with Louis.

 

But he finishes every detail of the flowers in the frame, so every canvas reflects a different flower, but it’s actually Louis during different days, through different states.

 

Louis was angry in the dark purple petunias one. He wanted mayonnaise in his sandwich but Harry forgot to pick it up when he went to groceries earlier. So he sat Louis down, and squeezed petunia petals in his palm. Louis sighed deeply and grabbed them tight, his shoulders down and eyes sharp. Harry painted him just like how he saw him- thin lips in a straight line, blue eyes boring into his and a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill out the second Harry opens his mouth. Harry didn't open his mouth, because he was shadowing Louis’ lips. Louis had to swallow his words, he did.

 

Another day, particularly warm and slow. Harry carried a big canvas to the bedroom, Louis drowsy after cuddling till afternoon, he was mumbling nonsense. Harry told him to sit still, and just let everything else fall into place. Louis’ messy fringe falling into his eyes, warm white blanket puffy with cool air, Louis’ bare chest and collarbones. Harry places apple blossoms around him, one in the crook of his neck after pressing a soft kiss in his hair, Louis hums.

 

And Louis finds himself with myosotis petals in his hair, the sunlight warming up the side of his neck. That day wasn't different from any other day. It may even be the dullest, but that's why it mattered for the canvas, cause Harry wanted to relive _that_ feeling when he looked at it. Nothing significant for the universe and Harry and Louis happened that day, so Harry handed Louis _forget-me-nots,_ and told him to look wherever he wanted to. Out of all the paintings, this one was Harry's favorite.

 

Cause when he looked through each one, he could recall at least one thing about that day. But with this one, a slight curve on Louis’ lips that still makes Harry doubt it’s even there, and absence of Louis’ eyes because he locked them on the ground- it tells him nothing about the flower, cause there's nothing to not to forget, so the only thing left is Louis. It's his favourite because this Louis is every day Louis, in the living room, in the street, in bed. It's the Louis he doesn't have to study, just admire. (And that's what he does, in the living room, in the street, in bed.)

 

So every painting has different flowers with Louis during different emotions, which makes Harry think on the names every time his eye catches on a canvas when he's not painting.

 

Every painting’s name is the flower in it, but every painting is just called Louis.

 

Louis breathes out softly, Harry smiles with the setting sun. “I'd love to stay for another night.”

 

*****

 

“Luminescence.”

 

“ _Iridescent_.” Louis’ eyes are locked up on the ceiling, he talks calmly.

 

“That reminds me of irises.” Harry says softly, tapping the side of his wrist with his thumb. “Illicit.”

 

“You can do better than that, Harry.” Louis listens to Harry letting out a huff, wants to press a soft kiss on his cheeks. “And?”

 

“Give me a moment, I'm thinking.” Harry mumbles, his eyes are shut. A short beat passes before he breaks the silence. “Syzygy.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Syzygy.”_

 

 _“_ How is that even- how do you spell that?”

 

“ _S-y-z-y-g-y_.”

 

“You’re shitting me.” Louis shakes his head, looks at his right to Harry who just shrugs slightly. “That doesn't count. So my turn.”

 

Harry sighs and looks up, locking his fingers on his tummy. The bed is more than comfortable and neither of them want to go to sleep.

 

“Epiphany.”  

 

“Spectacles.” Harry lets out a small breath, feeling his shoulders get heavier and the pillow sinking under him.

 

“That, actually sounds like a worm.” Louis scrunches his nose slightly, thinking of a worm wearing a black hat and holding a cane, (Can worms hold canes?) and having an ID card that reads _Mr. Spectacles._

 

“Spouse _.”_ Harry says softly, trying not to look at Louis’ face.

 

Louis hums lightly, mouths the word quietly. “It's like mixture of spider and mouse.”

 

Harry is just gonna look at him, he has to, Louis’ eyes doesnt meet his. “Louis.”

 

“Yeah, yeah hold on,” Louis frowns slightly, “I almost got it. Something like _glowing_ , _”_

 

“Louis.”

 

“Glistening.”  

 

“I think I like you.”

 

Louis looks at Harry from where he's lying next to him on his bed, lips shut and stomach clenched. Harry can physically feel his lungs tightening, he tries to catch something in Louis’ eyes shadowed by the dark room.

 

“I mean it, I really do.” Harry adds, his voice small, narrowing his words. He takes a tiny, shaky breath with Louis’ eyes still locked on his, no words. “You don't have to say anything.”

 

“I want to say something.” The words fall out of Louis’ mouth low and quiet, his lips barely moving. Harry doesn't answer and waits for Louis to talk, because he's not gonna make any sense if he speaks.

 

“I like you, too.” Louis says after a beat, Harry feels his fingertips buzz, maybe he touched the cold part of the sheets.

 

“You really do?” Harry asks quietly, straightening his back and sitting on the bed, catching a glimpse of Louis’ face.

 

Louis sits up with him, leaning on his palm and he looks effortlessly gorgeous, the night embracing him tightly. “I do, Harry, I…”

 

“...love you.”

 

Harry definitely feels a lump in his throat, and his stomach flips upside down, Louis looks up at him.

 

“I do too, I love you.” Harry says quietly, and he means it, Louis’ fingers brush his knee.

 

There's a short silence that's filled with Louis’ calm breaths, Harry is watching him. “Do you wanna be with me?”

 

“Harry, isn't it a little early for proposing?” Louis says softly with a smile, eyes locked on Harry’s eyes behind his curls.

 

Harry lets out a small breath and his lips curve up, he inhales. “Not for the rest of your life. Tonight, here.”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yeah, be with me.”

 

Louis stares at Harry silently, the moonlight on the back of his neck is soft and smooth, the sheets are puffy and clean under his palms. “How do I be with you?”

 

Harry watches Louis, his fingertips brushing around his knee and occasionally tapping the back of Louis’ hand, he smiles easily and is quite sure Louis can feel that, feel _it._ “Are you with me?”

 

Louis lets out a small breath after a long beat passes, his pretty eyelashes shadowing his cheekbones. “ _Oh._ Right now.”

 

Harry leans back to lie on the bed again, Louis follows and cuddles up to him, cheek on his shoulder. “Louis, can I ask you a question?”

 

Louis can hear the faint smile in Harry’s words, Harry inhales the smell of Louis’ shampoo, his left side pressed up on his right, so his chest would be filled up. “Yeah?”

 

“Did you really think I would propose to you without flowers?”

 

Harry’s lips brush Louis’ hair, he traces an invisible line on Louis’ palm with his thumb- gentle, telling and just there. Right there, like how Louis is with him, within him.

 

(He wouldn't, and he doesn't.)


End file.
